Wartime
by Myra Sam Frey
Summary: Just a small oneshot based during WW2. Doesn't really have a plot, but please feel free to R&R. Has got a bit of blood.


**WARNING: THIS FANFICTION CONTAINS VIOLENCE AND MODERATE BAD LANGUAGE. IF YOU DON'T WANT TO SEE THIS, PRESS THE BACK BUTTON. THANK YOU.**

I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, the throbs echoing in my skull and keeping time to the gunshots like rainfall that were flying overhead. The low buzz of planes swooping overhead was giving me a headache, and explosions rocked the night. Everywhere, all around me in the dank, muddy wasteland, came the harsh shouts and screams of falling men. This was the sound of war.  
My harsh breathing rattled through my chest, gurgling up out of my nose, the draft chilling my sweat soaked wrist. My trembling hands gripped my MP40 as if I was drowning and it was a life reserve. In many ways, this is true. I was drowning in the death of the men of my country, my comrades, my friends. It was the least I could do to use this to defeat the ocean of Germans who would kill without discretion. But I found it hard. These people, the ones in the German uniforms….were people just like me.  
I had never liked war.  
But again, I was just thankful to get a powerful gun such as this. All I've ever gotten in war before was a musket, and I'd be lucky at that. I was a bit nervous when they gave it to me, as I was only used to rifles, and this new technology made me afraid. The world sure has evolved from when wars were fought with swords and other crude weapons of such level.  
For a few moments, hundreds of shots flashed over the earth above my head, and I heard the distinct cries of men who were hit, and it was silent. Or at least, as silent as war can get. I figured that the person with the gun was reloading, or had thought he hit everyone, so I made the careless mistake of peeking my head over the edge of the trench.  
There, only a few metres away, was a fairly young looking man, holding his rifle right at my head. Before I could so much as cry out, there was a loud bang, and searing pain shot through my left eye, forcing me backwards onto the stinking earth.  
I heard the people around me cry out as I fell, and I could feel blood streaming down from the hole in my head, trickling down my cheek like grotesque tears.  
There was a horrible, fleeting moment; my heart stopped, and my harsh breathing slowed to a halt, and through my pain-fazed mind, I was afraid that this would actually be the end of me. Then my heart kept jolting in my chest, and my ragged breathing picked up again, and I knew I would be alright.  
I grunted and sat up, clutching at my head and swearing explosively. Even though I can't die, man, dying _hurts._  
Through my clenched teeth, a few gasping breaths shook my body, then, under my gloved hand, I felt the flesh start to knit back together and heal itself again. I blinked a few times, to make sure my eye was completely healed, and light slowly faded back, until my left eye could see as fine as it always could again.  
The men around me just grunted and turned back to where they were facing as they saw me get back up. They were used to this. They knew about me. Because I couldn't die, I can unashamedly admit that I was a little more reckless than them, and they first found out when I tried to go in front of a machine gun to save one of my friends. I saw their faces when I went down that changed into that of complete incredulity when I got back up again, their faces mirrored on that of the man who had shot me.  
Long story short, that man would hold that expression for a very, very long time.  
I gripped my gun again, as I had dropped it into the flowing mud. It had a crimson sheen on it in the lamplight, from the blood I had shed. I crawled back to where I was, and my hands tightened around the barrel, making it creak a little.  
Knowing that the man was still there, I still stood straight up from my place in the trench and aimed straight for his chest. From the way he paled visibly and staggered back a few steps, he knew that he had hit me, and that I didn't die from it. The sourceless blood that was already starting to dry on my cheek wouldn't have helped either.  
As I lifted the scope up to my eye, he made the sign of the cross across his chest, as if warding off a demon, and said "Gott helfe mir ... er wie Ludwig's ..."  
I halted in place, opening my closed eye and staring at him. I sure as heck didn't understand German, but I knew that he was talking about a certain German. I lowered my gun slightly, then quickly, but realised my mistake, but he didn't take the opportunity to attack me. He just kept staring at me, just as I was at him.  
"You…know Ludwig?" I asked hesitantly, not sure if he could understand, or even if he would answer if he could. He just stared blankly at me, and I asked him again. "Do you know Ludwig?"  
He just shook his head and said, "Ich verstehe nicht Englisch." He blinked at me after saying that, with his brown eyes, almost as dark and dirty looking as the mud I was wallowing in at his feet.  
"Oh, you….can't understand me?" I piped up, getting a little disappointed. I've been looking for him ever since the Americans joined this war. I've been wanting it to end, but Arthur and Ivan don't share my enthusiasm for it. They're just determined to send their men out to die.  
I was about to continue trying to communicate with this man, when a gunshot rang from behind me and he slumped to the ground, blood gurgling out of the wound on his chest. I whirled around, exclaiming with indignation, only to see the leader of my squadron standing there next to me, holding up his rifle.  
Being my leader, sort of, I couldn't argue with what he says or does, so I just glares at him sullenly. He seemed to ignore me, just re-cocking his gun and striding off. I huffed and returned to my post, whatever hope I had left dashed. I could almost imagine the little human representation of my hope bleeding and dying against rocks, ocean waves crashing over him…..  
Oh, ew. Morbid thoughts. I shook my head and just rested my chin silently on the rough dirt in front of me.

There was a very good reason I couldn't die. You see, I'm the physical representation of the country America. Yeah, it's true. I'm awesome like that. Anyway, big brother Arthur, whom I've already mentioned, is Britain. He didn't want to succumb to be at my level, down with the dirty people down in the trenches. He's staying up in his Admirals house and giving the orders. Pssh. Always been a fool like that.  
I'm different. I wanted to see what it was like, down with the ordinary people in the trenches. And I have to say….it's the worst thing I've ever been through, ever. It's dirty, we don't get much sleep, people are crabby, and we're always being shot at and dying. But…I love these men. They rely on me just as much as I rely on them, and they've kept my immortality a secret from the other squadrons, and I know I could trust these men with my life.  
I sighed with relief when I heard the whistle go off, which means we were to switch with fresher, more alert soldiers. I stumbled almost gratefully back into our little, cramped rooms under the earth and dropped to my bed, already half asleep.  
I was lulled to sleep by the gruesome sounds of war and the images I knew would never leave my head.


End file.
